


Cries and Kisses

by backintimeforstuff



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s05e10 Vincent and the Doctor, F/M, Post-Episode: s05e10 Vincent and the Doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 07:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backintimeforstuff/pseuds/backintimeforstuff
Summary: Good things don't always soften the bad things, but they help. Post Vincent and the Doctor.





	Cries and Kisses

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with his arm around her shoulder. Time is something, as a Time Lord, he should be able to understand, but on this occasion, all grasp on the passing of it slips between his fingers as they run softly through Amy’s hair. He doesn’t know how long he holds her, but long enough for her tears to cease, so that she’s just leaning into him with quiet, worn out breaths. Together they gaze at The Sunflowers, and eventually, after what seems like an age, the Doctor takes it upon himself to guide her away, for he fears that otherwise she’d stay staring forever. She doesn’t protest, he suspects she’s too exhausted for that, but she still edges next to him as they walk, letting him keep a hand on the small of her back. 

The snow is falling heavier in the evening, flaking softly down onto the pavements of Paris. From across the street the TARDIS glows dimly through the frost, and the Doctor looks crestfallen at it as he and Amy head slowly through the square. He doesn’t try to rush her, even though he can tell she’s cold. Her shivering only makes him wish he’d taken more care of her, that sometimes - even though she’d ridicule him for it – he needs to put his foot down. He needs to ensure that wherever and whenever they go from this day forward will never hurt her like she’s been hurt today. He doesn’t think he’d ever be able to stand it. 

She stands quietly by his side as he unlocks the TARDIS door, saying nothing as his eyes visibly narrow in concern at her tear trails reflecting in the lamplight. She lets herself past him quickly, and before he can begin to comfort her further, or to even call her name, she’s disappearing up the staircase and away down a corridor without looking back. 

The Doctor stays standing by the door, staring, a hundred thoughts running through his head. He doesn’t know what to do with any that present themselves, saving Vincent, however happy that may make her, is out of the question entirely, and she knows it. He knows that’s why she’s so sad. He debates whether to reason with her again – to try and help her see what they achieved over everything she’s just lost. Good things and bad things seemed a good place to start, and it worked, he thinks, at least for a while. But this is the problem with falling in love with ghosts. He of all people, knows that. He wonders whether he should at least try and talk to her. Judging by her quick exit she probably wants to be left alone, but he thinks, no one, however much they may believe it themselves, is ever better off alone. That’s another thing he’s learnt. It took him a while, but he knows it now, and there’s no way he’s just going to leave her. Not tonight. Not like this. A snowflake drifts down and lands on the toe of his shoe. He watches it melt into a single drop of water before stepping into the TARDIS and shutting the door behind him. 

He openly admits he’s never been any good at cooking, but he reckons that 900 years’ experience will at least be enough to make a simple hot chocolate. He’s seen Amy make it sometimes, she comes into the control room after a long day and sits watching him, drinking it. It seems to calm her down. When the TARDIS hums in laughter at his first attempt as he mistakes salt for sugar, he thinks briefly about finding someone out there in the universe who could make the best hot chocolate she’ll ever taste, but he stops himself and shakes his head. That isn’t the point. The point is that she’s upstairs, upset and alone, and he’s the only one she’s got right now. That thought spurs him on, and he uses all his concentration to make the best hot chocolate he can for her, the spoon clattering the side of the mug almost deafening in the silent kitchen. He watches the milk swirl like the clouds they sometimes venture through – and he adds a sprinkle of cinnamon and ginger on top of the cream because it reminds him of her. 

Just as he’s leaving the kitchen, mug in hand, he remembers that by the console there’s a solitary sunflower, one he’d left behind from Amy’s ‘surprise’ yesterday. He’d been in the process of caring bunches of sunflowers outside for her to arrange, and he’d left this one purely because he thought that in the midst of about 200, neither she nor Vincent would miss one sunflower. His hands were too full to protest, at any rate. He thanks himself to high heaven for that decision, because, venturing over and picking it up, running the stem between two fingers, a hot chocolate and a sunflower are exactly what she needs right now. 

He walks quietly down her corridor, he doesn’t want her to think he’s coming to lecture her, or to force her off suddenly on another adventure. This is one of those days where they just need to pause, just for a bit. To let her mull over. She may be mad and impossible, but The Doctor knows that Amelia Pond has been through enough to last a lifetime, and he’s not about to discredit that.   
He knocks softly at her door, and when she doesn’t reply he tries again, gently calling her name. He waits, patiently, but there’s still no reply. She might be asleep, there’s always that, but when he presses his ear to the wood, he can hear a faint something, so he decides to take his chances. Taking a deep breath, he pushes open the door. 

She’s curled up in bed, facing away from him in a mound of pillows. She’s still got her coat and scarf on too, as if she’s just collapsed there, and he can tell by the twisted duvet that’s she’s one nothing to make herself comfortable. He knows that because she’s crying. It’s quiet, but it’s there, her shallow breathing scares him more than anything, and he’s almost quite grateful he can’t see her face because he doesn’t think he’d be able to stand the sight of hazel eyes sprouting tears for the second time today. He pulls himself together after that thought crosses his mind, and he steps towards her, placing the hot chocolate down on the nightstand, along with the sunflower. 

He doesn’t say anything, he knows she probably doesn’t want him to, not quite yet, so he sits down gently by her side on the mattress and runs a few fingers across her cheek, brushing away a few strands of waterlogged ginger hair that have caught there. She doesn’t protest as he reaches out to hold her hand. They stay there motionless for a few moments, Amy still looking away as the Doctor’s raises his own gaze to the steam of the hot chocolate as it begins to swirl into the room. 

“Sit up for me?” 

She flashes him a look, quickly, but it’s not her usual one of sarcasm, it’s helplessness, for want of a better word. She complies with his whisper, her fingers in his own as she sits up slowly and catches sight of the sunflower with watery eyes. He reaches out and takes it, offering it to her, and she smiles, for the first time in hours, and as small steps go, he could ask for nothing more. 

He eases her coat and scarf from her shoulders as gently as he can, standing briefly to hang them on the back of the door before sitting back with her, watching as she dries her eyes, laying the flower in her lap to take her first sip of chocolate. 

“Did you make this?” 

It’s the first thing she’s said in hours, and her voice is hoarse, throat clogged from crying – but he knows that she’s not ridiculing him, she’s just surprised, because he’s never really done anything like this for her before. In response he just smiles, and makes sure the duvet is warm enough around her. He sits with her as she drinks the whole thing, just to be sure she’s okay, and keeps one hand on the topper most blanket - his palm resting on her thigh. 

“Need anything else?” 

He asks this softly of her, but she just looks at him, biting her lip as she brushes her hair behind her ear. She hasn’t given any indication that she wants to talk about it yet, so he assumes she’ll want to be left to sleep, but she reaches out for his hand again. 

“Please can you stay with me?” 

He does. It’s something he’d usually refuse, if she were in any way herself at this moment, he’d probably straighten his bow tie in an affronted manner before leaving her to it. On any other night he wouldn’t be swayed that easily, even by her chivalry - age old rules of his forbid such quiet company, for both his friends’ sake and for his own sanity. But tonight, is not like any other night, and he stays because he knows that the stars themselves will protest if he does otherwise. 

He settles down next to her in the space she makes for him, keeping above the duvet as he looks cautiously into her tired gaze. 

“Lullaby? Bed-time story?” 

He grins softly as she laughs sleepily. 

“All of the above.” 

It doesn’t take long for her to drift off to sleep after he dims the lights with his sonic screwdriver. He tells her the story of a little girl waiting in a garden, who gave hope to the greatest painter who ever lived. 

Fairy tales, he muses, are best told at dusk.


End file.
